


I've no language left to say it

by oceantears



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Crowley (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-08 03:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20296306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceantears/pseuds/oceantears
Summary: Crowley has a bit of a problem with the words "I love you".





	I've no language left to say it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mix_kid_ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mix_kid_ao3/gifts).

> This is a gift for mix_kid_ao3, who leaves such incredibly lovely comments under my works, which have inspired me and helped me to keep writing. Thank you!! I don't know if it's to your tastes but wanted to write a short piece as a means to say thanks. :)  
I really, really do hope you'll like this! 
> 
> Title is taken from Hozier's "Foreigner's God". English is not my first language, please tell me where I made mistakes!
> 
> Enjoy!! :)

Over the past few days the thought that Aziraphale wouldn’t make for a half-bad demon had occurred to Crowley more often than it probably should have.

Not that Crowley _actually_ thought that Aziraphale would Fall, and neither would he want him to. It was merely that over the course of the past few days, Crowley had noticed some traits in his angel that were more becoming to a demon than to a celestial being.

Lying, for example. Or emotional manipulation.

Both of which, Crowley was sure, Aziraphale wasn’t even consciously doing. _He_ probably thought that he was just as honest as always, that he was doing nothing out of the ordinary, that he wasn’t toying with Crowley’s emotions as if it were nothing. Well. He’d be wrong.

It had started innocently, really – prolonged touches here and there, gentle fingers stroking over Crowley’s hand, interlocking the demon’s fingers with the angel’s. Sitting closer to each other when Aziraphale was reading, absent-mindedly stroking Crowley's hair, his cheekbones, his neck. All this had turned into hand-holding and hugs, then gentle kisses on the nose and cheek and forehead. And all of it had been so soft, so _pure._ How could it not be, with Aziraphale involved in it, initiating it?

  
It had been good and perfect, right until three little words, whispered when they had lain in bed next to each other, had destroyed it. The words had shattered the bubble Crowley had created around him and Aziraphale, the bubble that would have been broken sooner or later anyways. But for some reason it still hurt. Probably because it was _Aziraphale_.

Aziraphale had whispered the three words Crowley had observed humans say since language had been invented, in a thousand different ways, on a thousand different occasions. Aziraphale hadn’t had a special occasion and the way he had said it had been simple, too.

_”I love you.”_

Simple, really.

And a lie.

Crowley hadn’t responded, letting Aziraphale think that he had already fallen asleep, oblivious to the lie that had just fallen from the angel’s lips. The words wrapped themselves around Crowley, suffocating him.

Crowley hadn’t anticipated it, was all.

Had there been a warning, any warning at all that something like this was about to happen, he would have prepared himself, shielded himself. He would have made sure that Aziraphale couldn’t make a fool out of him, would have ensured that he kept his feelings in check, wouldn’t have let himself be hurt.

But there had been no warning and therefore, Crowley lay in bed, hurt and beyond confused, a dull ache in his chest.

His angel had _lied._

  
Oh, Crowley was no stranger to lies, to tricks, to doing unspeakable things to get what he wanted. But he had never really applied that principle to Aziraphale, especially not in a situation such as this.

(If Crowley had been completely honest with himself, he would have admitted that he wasn't being entirely fair the angel. After all, Aziraphale didn't know that Crowley felt lied to, that he couldn't help but feel as if the angel was taunting him with what he wanted, while never giving it to him. Aziraphale didn't know about Crowley's feelings and even if he did, simply telling his friend that he loved him was by no means a lie - because Aziraphale undoubtedly loved Crowley. Just not in the way Crowley wanted him to.)

Crowley didn’t have any illusions as to what the situation they were currently in was. It was a friendship, the same way it had always been a friendship. Sure, there was a lot more touching going on as of lately but that didn’t mean much. Aziraphale had always been very... touchy-feely, and his relief over the Not-Apocalypse must have intensified this. Crowley was sure that everything that had happened between them lately – every hug, every brush of their hands, every innocent kiss - was a result of Aziraphale’s relief that the both of them were still alive, that the world was still turning. Crowley did not fool himself into thinking that all these touches meant that Aziraphale cared for him in any way other than a friend did about another friend. They had been friends since the Beginning, after all, and even if Crowley sometimes allowed himself to dream that their friendship would turn into something else, he was not disillusioned enough to think that it would ever _actually_ happen.

An angel didn’t love a demon; it was as easy as that.

  
Oh, in a way, he surely did, the same way he loved everything else God had created – in a general, broad sense the love that seemed to pour from Aziraphale at any given moment was surely meant for Crowley, too. And it should have been enough, really. The knowledge that Crowley was loved by at least one being in this universe should have been enough. But it wasn’t because Crowley was selfish and greedy. He didn’t want generalised love, he wanted one that was specifically for him, one that Aziraphale felt for _him_, Crowley, and no one else.

But Crowley’s wishes usually went unfulfilled and he was certain that this one would be no different. He should be happy, really. Which other demon could say of themselves that they were loved by an angel, by _Aziraphale_ no less? No one, that was who. Crowley ought to feel special, ought to relish in the words Aziraphale had said to him, but yet, he didn’t.

He didn’t because while they were what he had wanted to hear for longer than he cared to remember, they did not hold the implications Crowley wanted them to. When Aziraphale said “I love you,” he didn’t mean it the same way Crowley would have meant it had he said it. How could he?

He was only Crowley, after all. He didn’t deserve love, much less from someone like Aziraphale.  
If Aziraphale were to love Crowley the way Crowley desperately wanted him to, it would only harm him in the end. Crowley would _taint_ him, drag him down, sully the angel with his thoughts, his character. Aziraphale was too pure for Crowley, too good to love someone like him. A demon. 

And therefore, Crowley thought, it probably was better that Aziraphale meant nothing when he said "I love you". That way at least, Crowley wouldn't end up hurting the person he loved most in the world.

/

Crowley had a problem. A Problem, really, it deserved the capital letter for how huge, how terrible it was. His Problem was bad enough as it was, but still somehow made _worse_ by the fact that it was Aziraphale who had caused it.

Aziraphale and his lies.

Ever since the angel had first told Crowley he loved him, he hadn't been able to stop.  
Now, Crowley heard the torturous three words whenever he visitied the angel, whenever they talked over the phone or bid each other goobye.  
And every time he heard them, pain stabbed Crowley right in his damned heart.

Aziraphale looked so _sincere_, too. Hopeful as well. As if he wanted Crowley to say it back, to echo the words. As if he wanted Crowley to taint him with his terrible, shameful feelings.  
Crowley never said anything back when Aziraphale told him he loved him, no matter how hopeful the angel looked.  
Most of the time, he merely made a non-commital sound, hugged his friend or changed the topic of conversation.

Now, however, that wasn't quite possible.  
At the moment, Crowley was sitting very, _very_ stiffly in his chair at the Ritz, his hand clenched around his wine glass. He was staring increduously at Aziraphale, who was looking more than confused.

Crowley clenched his teeth.

"_What_ did you call this?"

His tone of voice was angrier than it had been in a long time, his knuckles white around the wine glass. He was glad that he was wearing his glasses, for they made avoiding Aziraphale's hurt, confused expression so much easier.  
Crowley leaned back in his chair, still tense and so, so angry.  
This wasn't _fair_. Aziraphale wasn't supposed to do this, hadn't Crowley endured enough already? Hadn't he suffered quietly through all the angel's lies, why was Aziraphale doing this to him? The angel was meant to be fair, to be kind, to be honest. And yet, Aziraphale, his best - and only - friend was being none of those things.  
Crowley's throat felt tight.

"I'm leaving," he said, standing up, pushing his chair back. Aziraphale winced at the squeaking sound it made but Crowley paid him no mind, already taking his coat from the back of his chair. 

"I'm leaving, angel, and I will not come back until you stop this game of yours and apologise to me. I understand that you can't really love me, at least not in the way I want you to, but this," Crowley made a gesture with his arm, encompassing their table with the lit candles, "this is too much. It's not a _date_, Aziraphale, and I do not appreciate you toying with my emotions like that."

Then, Crowley turned, storming out of the restaurant, ignoring the worried glances the waiters threw him.

Crowley left the restaurant hastily, trying to fasten up his coat while walking when he heard quick footsteps behind him and seconds later, felt Aziraphale's hand close around his arm.

He twirled around, wrenching his arm from Aziraphale, holding it against his chest as if to protect it from his friend. His friend, who was standing on the sidewalk, looking lost and hurt, his coat slung over his arm, even though the wind was freezing cold.

"What do you mean, I can't love you the way you want me to? What did I _do_?"  
Aziraphale sounded distraught and still so hurt, and all Crowley could think was that he had no right to look that way, none at all. He allowed himself a short, bitter laugh.

"You know damn well what you did, angel. It's fine, I get it. You don't love me, at least you're not in love with me, and it's fine. I didn't expect you to be, anyways. But you keep _saying_ it, and now you told me that we just were on a date, and that hurts. So if you could, if you could please just _stop_..."

Crowley stopped himself at that, wanting to preserve at least a sliver of dignity.  
He looked at Aziraphale, who was looking back at Crowley, his hand stretched out, as if the angel had meant to reach for his friend.

Crowley moved, about to leave this conversation, wanting nothing more than to hide in his bed until this embarrassing ordeal had been forgotten, but his friend stopped him once more.

"But I _am_ in love with you, Crowley. And I _did_ think that our dinner was a date. I... I thought I had made it clear that I loved you a long time ago. I thought that you simply needed some time to get used to the thought and that's why you didn't say it back."

Aziraphale looked sad like this, standing in the rain that had just begun, still reaching out to Crowley. 

Crowley swallowed heavily.

"You're lying. You're not meant to lie, angel."  
He averted his eyes, looking over his friend's shoulder at the empty street, the Ritz at the end of it.

"You can't just say that. I understand that you can't love me the way I want you to, and I have accepted this, but please don't tell me you do. I know I don't deserve your love because I'm a demon, so please don't call this a date, because I wish it was. I don't know why you're doing this, if you're doing this to get back at me for something, but if I did something that made you mad, I aplogise for it."

During his speech, Crowley hadn't dared looking at Aziraphale even once, too scared of the emotions he was going to find on his friend's face.  
He startled, however, when he felt the angel's arms close softly around him. Aziraphale hugged him, his head leaning against Crowley's collarbone, but not uncomfortably so.  
Stunned, Crowley raised his arms too, hugging Aziraphale back, his hands loose around the angel's shoulders.

"Oh my dear, dear boy."

Aziraphale spoke quieter than he did normally and with much more care.

"I thought you knew what I felt for you. I never would have done all that had I known that you thought I was lying. That I didn't love you."

Aziraphale leaned back, looking Crowley in the eyes.

"Crowley, _of course_ I love you. I have loved you for a long, long time but until a few weeks ago I was too afraid of rejection to act on those feelings. But after the world almost ended I got the impression that you felt the same way I did, so I started to do all those things I've longed to do for so long."

Azirpahale carefully brushed a strand of hair out of Crowley's face.

"Like hugging you more often, or kissing you on the cheek and forehead, for example. And I thought that you knew, love, I was so sure that you _knew_ I love you! I practically raidate love whenever I'm around you, my dear boy."

Aziraphale smiled softly.

"I love you more than anything. You being a demon doesn't have anything to do with it, it won't stop me from loving you. I love you just the way you are, and being a demon is part of you. I am merely sorry that my feelings have caused you so much grief."

With that, the angel took a step back, releasing Crowley's arms, which fell limply to his sides.  
For a moment, Crowley couldn't do much but stand there, staring at Aziraphale. Then, the angel smiled, if a bit sadly.

"I understand if this all was a bit much for you, my dear. It is probably best if we part ways now, so that you can sleep a bit and think things over. If you want to, you can call me tomorrow or visit me in the bookshop, love. And if you for some reason do not feel comfortable with this new... turn our relationship has taken, we can always wait until you're more comfortable with the idea of a romantic relationship. Or if you decide that you don't want me that way, it would also be... fine, my dear. I'd like nothing less than to make you uncomfortable."

Aziraphale looked so sincere, saying that. As if he could ever make Crowley uncomfortable. As if Crowley would ever feel anything but pure, unadultered joy and _love_ at Aziraphale's words. As if Crowley would ever let him go.

Aziraphale took another step backwards, aapparently ready to leave Crowley alone. He looked a bit sad but had put on a smile anyways, as if not to upset the demon.  
Before Aziraphale could take another step, however, Crowley grabbed his hands, drawing them to his chest.

"Don't leave, angel. I believe you and I'm sorry for assuming. I would love to turn our relationship into a romantic one and I'm sorry for noticing sooner."

Crowley spoke quickly, desperate to make Aziraphale stay with him.

"I might not be able to tell you yet, but I, I really do care about you a lot. I am sorry for hurting you. I do care about you, angel, more than anyone in this universe. I just can't quite say it yet."

Crowley swallowed before continuing. 

"I can't say it yet but if you're patient with me..."

The angel smiled and nodded, which was all the approval Crowley needed. He released Aziraphale's hands, instead pulling the angel against his chest in a soft, warm hug.

Aziraphale snuggled closer.

"I love you, Crowley. And it is okay if you can't say it back yet. We've got forever."

Crowley nodded, face burrowed into his friend's shoulder. He pressed a kiss to it.

"_Thank you,_ angel."


End file.
